


A minute past the end

by Flurry_X



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble, Gen, Longing, Pining, Season 15, Season 15 wishlist, Suptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-12 19:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20984228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flurry_X/pseuds/Flurry_X
Summary: ”He’s pictured his big bad ending more times than he can count, he’s lived it more times than he can say, and it has always felt final, like there couldn’t possibly be anything after it.So he hasn’t let himself think about it, what he’d do after, who he’d be.Now the battle is won and he’s still there, with his tattered clothes and his bruised body, and no idea what to do next.”-Little snapshot of my personal season 15 wishlist. For Suptober 2019 prompt “Season 15”





	A minute past the end

It’s a minute past The End. The dragon has been slayed and the credits have rolled, the heroes rest, tired and battered but alive, eyes wide and futures bright.  
It’s the minute Dean has never let himself think about.  
He’s thought about hypothetical scenarios, sure, life sweet like an apple pie and far far away from the things that lurk in the dark. A fantasy.  
He’s pictured his big bad ending more times than he can count, he’s lived it more times than he can say, and it has always felt final, like there couldn’t possibly be anything after it.  
So he hasn’t let himself think about it, what he’d do after, who he’d be.

Now the battle is won and he’s still there, with his tattered clothes and his bruised body, and no idea what to do next.

So he sits, his ass half frozen on the rain-cold hood of the Impala, his hands propping him up so he can watch the river flow by.  
He sits because he doesn't know how to do anything else. Tomorrow is suddenly a white expanse of foggy road, with nothing solid in it. He's more free than he's been since he was four years old, with a too-big pajama and a mother to tuck him in.  
He's free and he's terrified.

There's no string of cases to follow, no weight to balance on his shoulders. The sudden absence of it makes him feel unbalanced, like his muscles have forgotten what it feels like to be unburdened. If he took a step now he knows he'd be sinking to his knees, or worse, start crying.

So Dean sits, his skin cold and kinda numb on the metal, and he watches the water flow in front of him, the sun dipping inside like it's always done, like it will tomorrow too.

There's a weight in his chest, a clutch of pure fear that clicks in his throat every time he swallows, like a real thing stuck there.  
The sky blurs with the water in his eyes and he's not sure how he's still breathing, or why.

He's still looking at the water when there's movement next to him. He doesn't turn to see who it is, he knows it's Cas and his sad blue eyes and his chapped lips. He breathes in, through the knot in his chest, the air so cold it's barbed wire in his lungs, steeling himself for the conversation he knows is coming, cause it always does.  
"I'm sorry Dean, I need to go" he'll say, and his eyes will be grey and deep like the ocean in the mellow light of the dying sun. Dean will nod and maybe he'll hug him goodbye this time, because there's nothing left for him to run from, nothing that tethers him back to Dean and the bunker. No reason to stay in a bunker, really, not when you have the whole world at your disposal, pretty houses with pretty backyards and no chains in the basement.

He wonders what Cas will do, now that he’s human, who he’ll be. How far from Dean he’ll stray. He knows that when Cas will go, this time, he won’t be able to follow.

Dean sits, he breathes some more, waits some more, but the words never come. Cas just sits next to him, silent and solid, watching the water go by.  
Dean wants to look at him but he doesn’t. Wonders how the sunset would look like on his skin but doesn’t turn to find out.

It’s a minute or maybe an hour, when there’s the slightest pressure on his pinkie finger. A warm and careful weight, on such a small and inconsequential part of his body. Cas’s pinkie, a gentle hook around his own.  
Dean stops breathing for a moment, his body flashing too hot and too cold at the same time. He blinks and waits for the weight to disappear, for it to be a mistake, but it doesn’t. It sits there, solid and sure, like it belongs.  
There’s an urgent bloom in his chest, unsure if he wants to move closer or take his hand back and hide it away. He does neither in the end, leaves his hand where it is, his finger a little twine around Cas’s.  
He wants to say “Stay”, he hopes Cas is saying “I won’t go”.

Dean breathes and the weight in his chest is still there, but doesn’t feel like a ticking time bomb. Cas’s hooked finger is the tether that keeps his whole body anchored there, on an earth that doesn’t need him to be a hero anymore.  
He does turn to look at Cas then, because how can he not?  
He half expects to find him looking back already, but he’s wrong. Cas doesn’t move, sits still in all his slouchy glory, a shadow of a smile on his face, his skin yellow gold in the sunlight. He looks peaceful now, like he’s got all the time in the world and nowhere better to be than right there, his hand hooked around Dean’s, just breathing and watching a sunset they never thought they’d get.

All the minutes past the end suddenly feel a little more like soft hope than empty despair.  
They keep on breathing, the river keeps on flowing, and together, they rest.

**Author's Note:**

> When I picture the end of the show I picture something like this for Dean and Cas, an end that’s really a beginning.


End file.
